


we're up to our neck in foreign soil

by defcontwo



Category: Marvel (Comics)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-14
Updated: 2012-05-14
Packaged: 2017-11-05 09:24:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/404809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defcontwo/pseuds/defcontwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is on days like this when she looks around, surrounded by operatives and trainers loyal to Mother Russia, and thinks that none of them knows what it is to be truly alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we're up to our neck in foreign soil

**Author's Note:**

> written for a prompt at an Avengers comment fic-a-thon. tragically, I own neither Bucky or Natasha. based on a panel from Captain America and Bucky #624.

She is seventeen and still growing into her own, still unsure of her own body and her place, when she first sees him. It is on one of those rare days when she feels that she has clarity and the frustration begins to seep in, the frustration that there's something she's been missing all along lurking just below the surface - one of those days when she wonders what she's even doing here, wonders why her memories are fractured, like so many scattered jigsaw puzzles. 

It is on days like this when she looks around, surrounded by operatives and trainers loyal to Mother Russia, and thinks that none of them knows what it is to be truly alive. 

She is meant to be following orders but they're training her to be a spy, not a soldier, and there's an itch under her skin that's equal parts rebellion and frustration that tells her orders will do her no good.

This training scenario is a waste of time, she thinks with all of the arrogance of youth, because all of the training in the world can't teach a soldier to be adaptable - and adaptability is what will keep her alive.

It's what's kept her alive all this time.

The others don't agree, all snapping to and falling into line, and she reluctantly follows, tracking their line of movements, seeing where they slip up and where a wrong move will get them killed one day. A few of them are good, quick on their feet, and show promise. Most of them, she thinks, won't ever get much better than this.

But then there he is. The unknown element thrown in to upset the balance of the training exercise. She looks at him and she see that this a man who knows how to move, who knows how to kill and make it fast, efficient, clean. He moves through the trainees smoothly, quickly, and without care, exploiting each of their weaknesses with a confidence that she can't help but admire.

More than that, there's a spark there, a mischievous slant to his mouth that tells her there's more than meets the eye with this man. 

She wants to fight him. She wants to get his attention.

She draws her weapon, holding a gun in one hand and a grenade in the other, catching him off guard as he comes up on the end of the training exercise. 

"If you take the gun, I drop the grenade. You take the grenade, well, you know what happens..." She says, letting the tinge of pride creep into her voice, knowing that she's got him trapped where none of the others could even get close. 

"This isn't supposed to be a live ammunition exercise," he says, voice stern, but he grins anyways when the others can't see him. She risks a wink at him as she walks away, realizing that that was the most fun she's had in months. 

She asks, later, after the man with the metal arm and the wicked grin and the only answers she gets in return are fearful whispers and half-truths. _The Winter Soldier is a ghost_ , they say, _a dead man walking_ , they say. 

They must be wrong, Natasha thinks, because he's the most alive person I know.


End file.
